Miles To Go
by effies-scrapbook
Summary: Milestones of Effie Trinket's life - snippets, memories, and everything inbetween.
1. Chapter 1

**Miles To Go**

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**Summary: **Milestones of Effie Trinket's life - snippets, memories, and everything inbetween.  
**Warnings:** Suicidal attempts, sexuality, cursing, alcohol and drug abuse, and torture ahoy.  
**Notes:** Not really Hayffie-centric until the last piece...but #hayffie cause I can.

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**Xxx**

**Part One:** _this world she lives in_

**Xxx**

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Effie was always looking for something to live for.

The first time it occurred to her that there's nothing she's really good at is when she's seven. Her mother loved to point it out whenever she could, it seemed, because it was always, _"Effie you stupid girl,"_ or _"You'll go nowhere with that kind of attitude,"_ or _"Why can't you be like your sisters?"_

That was her least favorite. The one where her sisters lived on the top in the world, and she, well she was sent to the deepest pit of hell. Because hey, someone had to be the family black sheep. So it fell on her shoulders to be the one that no one like.

And she hated it.

She lived in constant comparison. Effie can't do this, Effie can't do that, Effie, oh god _why?_And when she really did something right — because truthfully and honestly she's smart and pretty too — it was shot down by her mother.

_You could've done better._

_You could've looked better._

_You could've said it better._

_You could've you could've you could've._

There was nothing to be proud of. There was always something to improve on. She _was_nothing and she _did_nothing and it hurt, damn it. It hurt her and she was barely a teenager.

When she was thirteen — she was still a kid, really — she was still trying to catch the attention of her mother. Was interested in the right things, made the right grades, dated the right people, hung out with the right people - but surprise, surprise.

_Not enough._

It was all the same thing, like she had a string of insults and putdowns at the ready. Like all she had to do was press play and repeat. Entirely convinced that her mother hated her, her father didn't mind her_ (How could he? He was always playing God to a city that knows none.)_ and her sisters looked down on her, she had nowhere to go.

In the Capitol, you've got _everything _if you got enough money.

She bought a bottle of Cyanlite off a poor and struggling doctor; it was a type of drug that just one pill would send you into a deep, deep sleep. It was meant for people with extreme fatigue or criminals that needed to be sedated, however a couple of years ago it was banned by the Capitol. Something about heart failure, something deadly like that. But the doctor needed money and she needed an escape

She took five pills.

Problem is, the doctor didn't tell her is that the pills, taken in quantities more than two in a period of fifteen hours, tend to cancel the effects of the others. That they start shutting down each and every organ function, one by one in the most agonizing way possible. That instead of an easy death in her sleep, her misery would continue for hours — days — stretching and hitting each nerve until she's dead.

The pain started in the pit of her stomach ten seconds after she swallowed the last pill. The screams started almost immediately.

When she woke up in her room four days later — stomach pumped, the rest of the Cyanlite burned to oblivion, her personal doctor on the way out with a fat check in his pocket to keep it hush-hush — her mother was the first to catch her eyes. The woman Effie knew was long gone. Wigs, colors, and lights were discarded. This woman was older in her eyes, the wrinkles previously hidden by blush and foundation now prominent, and with her jaw clenched tighty, she drew her knees to her chest. She sighed, the sound drawn out like usual.

"Effie," the woman croaked out. Her grip around her knees was tighter, her stare fixed on her daughter softer.

Effie looked down in shame. Has she failed again? She waited for the insults to rain down again. Probably something along the lines of not doing it right, or being too weak to suck it up.

Effie braced herself.

Her mother bit her lip. "Don't you know I love you?"

Effie's eyebrows raised. "No."

The woman sighed again, except this one was sharp, cut and stuck at the base of her throat. She looked away from Effie and to the picture of the girl and the mother on the bedside table. "You lived. You never really wanted to leave, did you?"

"It's not like you care," Effie said quietly. "You only act like you do now because you don't want the press to know."

The woman smiled. "Ah. Looks like you know half of it. No, I don't want the media to catch wind of this. It's reelection time for your father, and while he has Snow's stamp of approval, this still is pseudo-democracy."

"So you had me cared for at home?"

"Hospitals have ears, you know."

There is a silence before the mother gets up for the door. She stops, glancing over her shoulder to make sure of Effie. Her hands find the edges of the doorway for support, her body still shaking from grief. She was scared, Effie noticed.

Probably for the family's image. No one likes the suicidal daughter sob-story.

Effie took in everything she saw in her mother's eyes. The care stemming from the ocean blue, the love buried in the green flecks. The wrinkle that creased as she cracked a smile, a grateful one at that.

"I'm proud of you, Effie."


	2. Chapter 2

**Miles To Go**

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**Summary: **Milestones of Effie Trinket's life - snippets, memories, and everything inbetween.  
**Warnings:** Suicidal attempts, sexuality, cursing, alcohol and drug abuse, and torture ahoy. By the way these are true headcanon that I've always thought Effie to be like. Kind of like a...backstory. Hehe. ;D  
**Notes:** Please read and review. I appreciate every single on and they really do keep me going. Thank you. :)

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**Xxx**

**Part Two:** _all the pretty lights_

**Xxx**

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Seneca Crane was an old childhood friend of Effie's. Maybe the Trinkets and the Cranes hadn't ran around in the same social circles, but the city had only a few schools for the children. They'd lived in the same neighborhood too — the big old mansions and ranch houses overlooking downtown and the surrounding suburbia — and sometimes played side by side whenever it was convenient. It would be lie to say that they were strangers. It would also be a lie to say they were best friends. They just happened to be classmates and neighbors. There was nothing past familiar smiles and fake conversations, nor did they ever ignore each other either. The only trouble is that for people who never really bothered to dig deeper than, _"Hey, how are you,"_ they knew an awful lot about each other.

But what to expect from a city whose roots were based in gossip?

Fast-forward past the cootie stages and pre-pubescent years, and Seneca Crane somehow ended up with an invitation to Effie's sister's seventeenth birthday party. Effie figured that the only reason he was invited was because her father needed to speak with Mr. Crane, and the best way to do that was via Seneca's appearance at Ellis's party.

Whatever. Effie doesn't speak politics. Never had, never will. All she knew is that her father was going to benefit from Seneca Crane's presence at the party. But why did she care, anyway? It's not like she fancied him. Or even tolerated him. He was a bit pretentious after his awkward stages, probably because he realized he was good-looking and had most of the girls in the city wrapped around his finger. Well, not Effie. No, Effie was dignified.

Seneca Crane, childhood friend and adolescent _"Hey, how are you?" _was not going to sway her. Not even.

**Xxx **

When Effie was growing up, she never heard the end of her mother's fervent desire for her daughters to marry someone distinguished. _Someone with a_ name, _for the love of God_, because one of these days Mr. Trinket was going to pass away and where would the money go? Certainly not freely into their hands — Trinket women were not freeloaders. Work hard or marry rich, that's what they do.

Effie always favored the former. She never expressed interest in marrying, and if she ever did, it wouldn't be for money. It would be for love. Wasn't that the point of marriage anyway?

Anyway, Effie wasn't really all that keen on listening to her mother. But that didn't stop her from pursuing boys. Because she's still a girl, still a teenager. She liked them, and that's all there is to it.

She's dated many before she ever considered Seneca as someone more than an acquaintance. Bouncing off one boy to the next, she got quite the reputation for using boys as one would with tissues. Of course, the rumors bothered her, but she had the smarts to back her image up. No one could touch her because frankly, at least she's going _somewhere_ — she's not just a bimbo, she's actually pretty successful in her own right.

At least, that's what her friends tell her.

She didn't really need the company of suitors, rather she found it enjoyable instead. Love? Yeah right. Not an inkling of love could be traced through her relationships. She's not stupid. She's young, too young for love, and she's smart enough to recognize that.

But Seneca was different than all the rest of the boys she was with. He never chased her, the girl with the money, the face, and a whole lot of brain. Never did he come running to her door, pawing for a little bit of _ass, cash, and test answers_ or something demeaning and typical like that. He was a handsome, condescending boy of fifteen. He had girls pining over him like he was the greatest thing to ever walk the face of the Earth. In a lot of ways, he was.

And he knew it. He flaunted it around like a peacock would with his feathers.

But Effie wasn't one to vie for anyone's attention, not after she realized the great danger of doing so, and for a boy? Well, that's below her.

Trinket women are _not_ desperate.

So she stood by during the party, watching her friends drunkenly (and _pathetically_, to say the very least) throw themselves at him. It would be entertaining, watching him squirm in discomfort, if not for the dull envy lying at the pit of her stomach.

Don't they know she could easily walk over there and have him?

She rolled her eyes and walked away, out to the gazebo in the center of her backyard. The party should be ending soon, but it's not like anyone would care to leave. Everyone was inside, drinking, dancing, having a good time. But Effie's fifteen and too young for that scene. Besides, it's not in anyone's best interest to get her drunk, especially with what happened last New Year's Eve.

So she was bored and out of place. Great. Why couldn't she vacation with her parents at the Bay instead? That would be much more fun.

Hell, watching paint dry would be a better time than this.

She felt a warm body next to her, but she didn't care to acknowledge it. And why would she? She's not obligated in anyway to make conversation, this is goddamn house and—

"Effie."

_Why does she melt?_

_Why does her heart beat faster?_

She leaned against the railing, blowing her bangs out of her face. She hated going without her wig...this drab tone of yellow isn't special, not at all. And this dress, it's too tight! How did she expect to fit into this?

God, she's a mess right now.

_Play it cool, Effie. Act like you're not panicking right now._

_...Fuck, is that sweat?_

She turned around to face him, crossing her arms along her chest. "I see you've managed to get away from your fangirls." She laughed when he shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck as if that'll do him any good. "Oh, Seneca, you've really not changed."

"Me?" He pointed to himself, almost in disbelief. "I see you've not changed as well. Always the possessive one."

She nodded slightly, because she knew she was. How could she not? He was...he was...

"Well, you're _mine_," she blurted out. Immediately, she threw her hand over her mouth. Smooth, Effie, _smooth_. Embarrassed by this sudden — and _soverymuch_ impolite — outburst, she said hurriedly, "No—no, I mean—"

But he only laughed along, holding up one hand to cease her desperate attempts at covering up her words. "So now you feel how I did when you were going out with all those guys."

"You did?"

"I'm just good at hiding at, Effie," he said nonchalantly. "You, however, wear your heart on your sleeve. At least, when I'm around." He shook his head, chuckling. "Anyone tell you you're a terrible actress?"

"I can't be that bad, Crane. I was the lead in the fall comedy, wasn't I?" She batted her eyelashes at him, in hopes to use some of her old tricks to weasel out something from him.

He rolled his eyes. "And conveniently that was the year your family donated $12000 to the drama department."

She only glared at him.

"Relax, Effie. You did wonderful. All I'm saying is that it wasn't hard to figure out that you were insanely jealous over there," he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder towards the house party.

"I wasn't _jealous_," she retorted, turning so that her back faced him. She knew she was blushing — her cheeks must be that horrid color of roses, God, it was embarrassing.

"Really, now?"

It was quiet.

And then she felt the damn air move and he was coming closer.

She felt his breath tickle her ear, his lips mere centimeters away from brushing against the spot below her earlobe. His arms pulled her closer into him, his body swaying with hers as they danced to the slow beat of the music back at the house. Slowly, sensually, his hands trekked their way to hers, his fingers laced around her own. Hips pressed against the small of her back, bodies radiating warmth through this cold, cold night...

She wondered what he was trying to accomplish. Was it making her swoon? Making her knees all wobbly and her breathing come to an abrupt stop? Because he's done that quite well by this point.

"You weren't mad when I did this to a girl that wasn't you?" he whispered huskily in her ear. His lips dropped down to her neck, sucking, biting, his teeth running down her skin and feasting on her pulse. She was being eaten alive...and she loved it. "Imagine my hands running down your body...but it's not you Effie, no you're untouchable, just like all the Trinket girls..."

She shuddered at the thought.

_Lord, give me the strength to—_

"Effie."

She turned on her heels and slammed him up against the beam of the gazebo, the structure racking under the sudden impact of his body weight. Her fists gripped his dress shirt tightly, afraid to let him go to those trashy, floozy girls — he's hers, hers and _only hers!_

"Ef—"

His words are cut off by her lips, and when he kissed her back with the same fervor, her mind went blank.

She didn't remember much about what happened after that. Something must've occurred then, between the moment clothes went flying and between ruffled bed sheets, between the moans of ecstasy and the tangle of limbs the morning after. After all these years, she's forgotten about the things she shared with Seneca Crane, the boy who showed her how love felt like, how it was really meant to be. She didn't remember much, but she remembered that first kiss between hers and his. That first moment of inexplicable happiness.

Above everything, she remembered that for the first time, she had felt wanted.

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**I know! I know my hayffie taggers, it isn't quite hayffie yet! If I could Seneca would be Haymitch! But...**

_/i have no excuses okay please just bear with me._

**Please leave a review loves xo**


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